


Neither Explained, Nor Ignored

by StarlingGirl



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Meetings, Flirting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 11:56:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21270653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlingGirl/pseuds/StarlingGirl
Summary: Alex's instincts are usually pretty spot-on.Right now, he's pretty sure of three things:One, this cute, curly-haired guy has lost his kids, Hercules and Lafayette.Two, that he's a bit of a trouble-maker himself, if the mischief in his eyes is anything to go by.And three, that he won't say no if Alex asks for his number.Okay, well, two out of three ain't all bad.***An indulgent 'I lost my friends in IKEA and you helped me look for them because you thought they were my kids; hilarity ensues' AU.





	Neither Explained, Nor Ignored

**Author's Note:**

> Am I writing 50,000 words of trash fic for NaNoWriMo? I am. 
> 
> Am I several years late to the Hamilton fandom? I am.
> 
> Am I sorry about this absolute trash? I am not.

"Instinct is a marvelous thing. It can be neither explained, nor ignored."   
_—Agatha Christie_

* * *

Alex rolls a shoulder, and feels rather than hears his joint popping in protest. He’s been at this for hours, mind firmly fixed on the more important matter of the articles he’s writing for his upcoming deadlines while his body restocks shelves on auto-pilot. 

It’s easy to lose track of time, in here. He’d read somewhere that IKEAs are built without windows on purpose—like casinos, the intention to cut off all visible signs of the steady tread of morning to noon, noon to night. Privately, he thinks it’s probably just easier to build and maintain a huge metal warehouse without the irritation of installing windows, but the outcome is the same regardless.

He straightens from where he’s hunched over a low shelf of candles, and leans back to stretch out his spine, feeling twice his age when he groans at the ache that’s spooled at its base. He’s upright just in time to catch the eye of a young, curly-haired man whose expression is fixed somewhere between frustration and worry, and who changes direction mid-stride to make a beeline towards Alex when he clocks his uniform.

Alex plasters a customer-service smile on his face and hopes he’s not about to get complained at; he has a track record for not being so good at dealing with that kind of thing. Obsequiously offering apologies for something that’s not his fault isn’t a skill he’s picked up, no matter how many times his manager pinches the bridge of his nose and begs him to stop _ arguing _ with paying customers, to _ talk less, _ to just smile and apologise.

“Is there like, a tannoy?” the man asks without pre-amble as he approaches. “To make announcements?”

Alex is relieved at the question, and he relaxes a little. Up close, the man’s face is a constellation of freckles, and he’s pretty sure that if he could coax a smile onto those lips, it’d be radiant.

“Lost someone?” Alex asks. It’s pretty common. The store is big, and there’s plenty of places for people to get separated. Kids especially are all too easily distracted by the displays, the fake room set-ups that are just perfect for playing make-believe, and the hallowed bins full of giant stuffed toys that are almost bigger than them, and which their parents will realistically never buy for them.

So it makes sense that the man drags a hand down his face and mutters something under his breath about _ children. _ He seems young to have kids, especially more than one, but you never can tell; Alex allows himself the luxury of hoping he’s just looking out for someone else’s kids, or something. Not that he actually imagines the situation will arise where it would prove a problem, but the guy’s cute and there’s nothing to break up an afternoon of tedium like some light flirting. He surreptitiously glances around, but doesn't see a wife or partner trailing after him.

“I told them to stick close,” the man says, clearly frustrated. “I even bought us lunch in the cafe earlier as a good-behaviour bribe.” Alex huffs a laugh, but bites down on his amusement when the other man doesn’t crack a smile.

“See, there’s your mistake,” Alex offers wisely. “In my experience, the meatballs are best withheld until the end of the trip; better leverage.” The man sighs heavily, but Alex is pleased to see the corners of his lips twitch upwards almost imperceptibly upwards at the advice.

“I guess I’ll know that for next time,” the man says.

“C’mon. The tannoy’s back near the tills; we might as well go the long way and see if we can spot them on the way. Anyone else helping look after them today?” Alex catches the frown that graces the man’s face for a moment and for a split second thinks he's asked the wrong question, put his foot in it.

“I’d probably sell my left kidney for someone else to help me with those two,” he says, and Alex tries not to feel pleased that the guy is single. Maybe his wife died in some horrible freak boating accident, maybe she ran away with the pool boy, maybe she's an international super-spy who had to fake her own death; there could be any number of tragic reasons why he’s got no help. Alex probably ought to feel guilty about taking advantage of it to flirt.

He doesn’t, because it feels like a waste of time, which is why he smiles instead—a little crooked and totally genuine—and bumps the guy’s shoulder with his own as he guides them both back through the home decor displays and back towards the bedroom display department, where the guy had come from.

“Well, while you’re here you’ve got me,” he says. “Don’t worry; I’m reliable as hell.”

_ That _ pulls a smile to the guy’s face. An actual, real smile, with teeth, and Alex wasn’t wrong about it being radiant. He feels like he could put a wattage to that smile, sell it in the lighting department.

“Great. So you’re saying I can drop them off here every weekend and go get my shit done? Works for me.” Alex laughs.

“Well, I mean, there is a creche. You know that right? Like, there’s people here you can literally pay to look after them for you.” The shelves of candles and picture frames and fake plants give way to carefully put-together beds laden with too many pillows, throws artfully draped across the ends.

“Somehow, I doubt the creche would take them,” the man says dryly. He’s looking around, peering over the heads of the other shoppers, and Alex realises that as delightful as watching the one loose curl that’s brushing the guy’s freckled cheek might be, he’s supposed to be helping him look for his lost kids.

“What are their names?” he asks, and then frowns. “Actually, what’s _ your _ name?”

The man glances back towards him. “I’m John,” he says. “They’re Hercules and Lafayette.”

Weird choices as far as names go, but Alex leaves well enough alone on that front. Instead he tries to imagine John, with his bright smile and his smattering of freckles, broad shoulders and trim waist, with two kids hanging off him adoringly. Alex isn’t crazy about kids in any particular way, but he’s got to admit the mental image is as endearing as hell.

“I’m Alex,” he says, half a second too late where he’s distracted by his own imaginings. John hitches a smile, and sticks his hands in his pockets as he ambles onwards. “You’re taking this very calmly,” Alex observes, and then winces, keenly aware how that might come across as critical. John only shrugs.

“It’s not the first time, and you can bet your ass it won’t be the last,” is all he says, and deviates from their path to peer behind some long, hanging curtains. He comes up empty, and wanders back towards Alex.

“I mean, you love them though, right?” Alex cajoles. John scrunches his nose up in false disgust, but it’s easy to see through, especially when shrugs a shoulder and falls back to fond exasperation.

“Against my better judgment,” he agrees. “And in spite of their efforts to ensure otherwise.”

“Well, I bet they feel the same about you,” Alex says, quirking an eyebrow.

“Hey! I’m very lovable,” John objects. Alex makes a happy little noise of agreement, murmuring _ I bet _ and smiling innocently when John pauses in his speech to glance over at him. Is that a faint blush that Alex spies rising behind those freckles? Unfair, the way it spread matching heat somewhere through Alex’s belly. Still, John’s warm hazel eyes are locked onto Alex’s, and he doesn’t look uncomfortable, as such. Maybe a little surprised, and then a little thoughtful.

“Bet you’re a trouble-maker too, though,” Alex says, grabbing the metaphorical shovel with both hands to willingly dig himself a little deeper into this hole. In for a penny, or whatever, and he’s only got until they find two mischievous children to enjoy this interlude. Then it's back to re-stocking candles on his own. 

“You’ve got no way of proving that,” John says primly, and ducks abruptly behind a standing wall that divides off a staged bedroom. Alex follows, leaning briefly up against a teak wardrobe as he watches John peer into the two similar rooms that lead off it. No kids.

“What can I say? I trust my instincts, John.”

Alex is enjoying the high blush on John’s cheeks, wondering just how flustered he can get him, in good conscience. John doesn’t seem shy, exactly, but perhaps a little unused to casual flirting—a risk of single parenting, perhaps, that’s left him rusty on the romance front. A part of Alex wants to keep pressing, to deepen the slight pink flush of skin, to chase the bashfulness from the man’s demeanour, if he’ll let him.

Alex expects another evasion, maybe, or a change of subject. He sure as hell doesn’t expect the way that John swings around right as Alex moves to follow him, so that they’re standing chest-to-chest, close enough that his breath hitches in surprise. John is taller than him but only by a couple of inches, and Alex can feel the warmth radiating from him. Something like mischief has ignited in John’s eyes—point proven, score one for Alex’s instincts—and there’s the ghost of a smile riding against his teeth.

“Yeah? What else are your instincts saying, _ Alex _?” 

He frame the syllables of Alex’s name deliberately, smile audible in his voice like the sharp-sweet tang of summer apples, and it’s horribly distracting. Alex blinks, forcing his gaze up from John’s lips. Now _ he’s _ the one who’s flustered, and it’s not a feeling he’s familiar with. He opens his mouth, only to find that his words are stuck somewhere in his throat. He finds himself distantly thankful that there’s no one who knows him here to witness this uncharacteristic moment of silence. He swallows, tries again, does his best to ignore John’s smirk.

“That you wouldn’t say no if I asked for your number?” he manages, tongue tripping the words without much input from his brain. He doesn’t intend it to sound like a question but it does. Somewhere he hears a baby crying, a mother shushing, and he remembers abruptly why he’s even here with John in the first place. He makes a hurried amendment. “After we find Hercules and Lafayette.”

John’s smirk widens, and after the space of a long breath, he steps back out of Alex’s space, leaving him feeling a little dazed, in the best possible way.

“I guess we’ll see how your instincts hold out,” John says, his tone conversational like he hadn’t just been close enough that Alex could have kissed him with the barest shift of his head, like he hasn’t left Alex’s heart beating an uneven tattoo, like Alex isn’t starting to feel wildly out of his depth. Alex has flirted with plenty of people before—at work, at bars, at the damn grocery store—but he’s never quite come out of it like this, a little lost and already missing the proximity of an almost total stranger.

“I guess,” he agrees dazedly, and follows John out of the other side of the display room. They round the corner to the children’s furniture, Alex desperately trying to rally himself. His attention snaps back to the world around him when he hears someone call John’s name.

“John! _ John! _ This bed has a _ slide. _”

Alex turns, and blinks. There’s a princess-themed bed against the wall, wood painted white and pastel pink, drapes covering one end and a slide leading from the other. Underneath, in a space that’s clearly been designed to cater for children no older than twelve, are crammed two fully-grown men. One is tall, all limb, a look of utter delight on his face. The other is broad, stocky, and fighting for a bigger share of the limited space.

“Jesus,” John groans. “Lafayette, you’re taller than the damn slide is long.”

Alex blinks again.

“That’s Lafayette?” he asks, dumbly. John glances over at him, forehead wrinkling in confusion.

“Yeah? And the other idiot is Hercules.” John turns back to the two young men and shakes his head, almost sorrowful. “I was about to get on the tannoy.”

“Aw, you were worried about us?” the man who is apparently Hercules grins. “Were you gonna beg us to come back safe?” John scowls, and kisses his teeth in frustration.

“Actually, I was just gonna say ‘goodbye, you little shits’ and take off. Leave you to live here amongst the display furniture, begging for meatballs to get by.”

“_ They _ are who you were looking for?” Alex says again, hung up on the fact that there aren’t any kids here. He feels like he’s fallen down the rabbit hole, everything he’d assumed about John completely and utterly incorrect. Their acquaintance totals about fifteen minutes, but it fifteen minutes of _lies._

“Yeah,” Johns says again. “Told you they were trouble.”

“I thought they were your _ kids _,” Alex says, aghast. Lafayette laughs, high and delighted, and John just stares—brows raised in surprise, lips parted. Then he starts to laugh, too. Alex, bewildered, doesn’t quite know whether to join in or not.

“Yeah, no,” John says, eventually, when he catches his breath. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, they might act like goddamn children—”

“—hey!” Hercules protests. “We do not act like _ children. _” He ruins any credibility the statement might have had by shoving Lafayette out from under the canopy of the princess-bed, crowing in victory as he spreads himself out more comfortably. John rolls his eyes.

“—but they’re my friends.” He grins: sheepish, repentant. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s...fine,” Alex says, because he doesn’t know how else to describe the situation. Absurd? That barely begins to cover it. Thinking back, John had never actually _ said _ they were kids, let alone _ his _ kids. It’s a comedy of errors that’s almost Shakespearean in its perfection, two men speaking at perfect cross-purposes without knowing it. And then Alex’s brain catches up with the situation, and he fixes John with a keen look. John’s chastened expression smooths off to something a little more knowing.

“So, no kids?” Alex clarifies.

“No kids.” John says firmly, raising his voice just a fraction to drown out the sound of Lafayette whining that Hercules is being unfair.

“...no partner?”

“No partner,” John agrees, warm laughter wrapped up in his voice.

“And about my instincts—?”

John grins, even brighter than before, and Alex feels something in his chest go thump, like his heart has just tripped over itself. John taps a thoughtful finger against his lips; Alex can’t help but watch it.

“Well, on the one hand you thought my best friends were my children,” John says slowly. “On the other hand, I’m _ clearly _ a trouble-maker, given how I’ve fucked with your afternoon. That puts you at one for two. Guess we’re in need of a tie-breaker.” John looks at him, expectantly. Alex takes the bait, rocks up onto the balls of his feet, putting them just a fraction closer together as he pulls his phone from his back pocket.

“Can I get your number, John?” 

There’s a long, drawn-out moment where John says nothing at all. And then he tips his head, gathers a smile at one corner of his mouth.

“Two out of three ain’t bed,” John says, and takes the phone, tapping his number in. When he slides it back into Alex’s hand, their hands brush. Alex’s skin seems to burn against the contact, fingers curling across John’s contact to maintain the connection for as long as he can. “Guess you’ve got pretty good instincts after all.”

And then Hercules and Lafayette chorus a scandalised _ oooohhhh! _ and the moment is broken, John stepping back to put some space between them and jabbing a finger at his friends.

“If you don’t get your asses straight out of here and into the car, I am never bringing you to IKEA again,” he says, and Hercules and Lafayette grumble and pull each other up from the too-small furniture to head in the direction of the exit. Lafayette winks at Alex, and then waggles his eyebrows for good measure. Hercules purses his lips consideringly, and then nods once in what Alex hopes is approval. John half-turns as he follows them.

“You better call,” he says, with a grin. “The kids will be _ heartbroken _ if you don’t.”

And then he’s gone, slinging himself between his two friends with an arm hooked around each of their shoulders, for all he has to reach up to do it. Alex watches him go, double-checks that he’s saved the number in his phone, and slips it back into his pocket, giddy.

He startles when someone taps him on the shoulder, turning to find Burr frowning slightly at him.

“You’re supposed to be restocking,” he says, and his eyes flick up towards the retreating trio. “Don’t tell me you’ve been fighting with customers again, Alexander.” Alex only grins, mood too buoyant to be pulled down.

“Oh ye of little faith, Burr, sir,” he intones. “I was helping to reunite a family. Beautiful. Very emotional. _ Exceptional _ customer service.”

Burr raises a disbelieving brow. Alex only skips backwards a step, goofy smile fixed to his face against his will, and retreats back to home decor to finish unboxing endless scented candles. In the sweet-smelling fog of an afternoon that passes quickly without windows or further distractions, he counts down the minutes until he’s free to call John.

His instincts are telling him that this is the start of something good, and John’s right: two out of three is a pretty good track record. He’s willing to trust his instincts on this one, too.

**Author's Note:**

> I warned you it was absolute trash. Want more absolute trash? Well, you're in luck, because I'll doubtless be posting more before the month is up. Thoughts & comments always appreciated, and if you have any particular trash-trope requests, then let me know: I might not get to all of them but I'm sure as hell willing to try.


End file.
